


Awakenings

by genteelrebel



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friendship/Love, Humor, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:21:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3349862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genteelrebel/pseuds/genteelrebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Buffy's 5th season death, Dawn needs some help figuring out how to go on.  Spike figures out how to provide it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

> My one and only BTVS story. Special warnings for some frank discussion of female puberty, some sexual innuendo, and one m/f kiss. Oh, and lots of British profanity, thanks to Spike.

Three weeks, 1 day, 9 hours and 18 minutes after her sister died saving the world, it finally happened. Dawn stared down at the darkness spotting her underwear, resisting the urge to rub at the stains with her fingers to see if they would go away. The spots weren’t shadows, and they weren’t soda pop someone had thoughtlessly spilled on her pile of clean laundry. These were the real deal. Blood. Her womanhood had officially begun.

Blood. Not from a demon or other Hellmouth nasty, and not from any wound, but blood from her very own body, simply because she was growing up and this was the way things were supposed to be. Dawn felt many things as she stared down at the tell-tale stains: excitement, embarrassment, sadness, grief. But mostly she just felt frustrated. It HAD to happen now, didn’t it? Now, during the summertime, when school was closed and all her friends were on vacation far away. If it had happened at school, Dawn would have known exactly what to do: gone to the vending machine in the girl’s bathroom and gotten one of the ridiculously thick, hospital-style maxi pads the school nurse gloried in stocking, the ones no girl or female teacher ever actually used unless it was an absolute emergency. Or else she could have borrowed something from Marcia, who had started her periods like, a million years ago already, and always kept a supply of pads in her book bag, or…heck, rumor had it that even Mrs. Peabody the principal kept a box of “necessary items” in her desk, “just in case.” There would have been a million people at school Dawn could’ve asked for help, people with whom the embarrassment factor would have been minimal. At home there were…well, just two, and that was not a happy thought. Oh, Dawn knew she should be grateful that she had the Tara and Willow at all; if she didn’t, she would have had to go to Xander and Anya or, god forbid, Giles, which didn’t even bear thinking about. But still, going to the witches when she *should* have been sharing this moment with Mom or Buffy felt…wrong. Bad. A reminder of everything she’d been trying so hard to put behind her for the past almost-month. Namely, that she, Dawn, was the only Summers girl left.

The only Summers *woman*, now.

Still, she had to do something. Dawn carefully lined her panties with toilet paper before pulling them back into place, but she knew that wouldn’t work for long. Lindsey Jones’s embarrassing experience in the 6th grade just proved that. Dawn needed the real stuff, and apart from going through her dead sister’s room on the vain hope that Buffy had left a box of pads behind, something Dawn had absolutely zero desire to do, there was only one way to get them. She smoothed her skirt down, ran a comb through her hair, and carefully washed her face, hoping that the washcloth would scrub away any signs of tears from around her eyes. Then she knocked on Willow and Tara ’s bedroom door. “Willow? Tara?”

Willow answered the door, face somewhat flushed as she hastily pulled closed her kimono. “Dawnie! Hi! Good morning to you,” she said, using that indescribable tone of fakey adult cheeriness that told Dawn she and Tara had been having sex before Dawn interrupted. Not surprising, really, as it was only eight o’clock on a Saturday morning and under normal circumstances Dawn could be expected to still be in bed, sleeping in. Dawn could see, through the half-open door, the Maxwell Parish print of the girl in the flowing pastel dress just over Willow’s shoulder, which was another of the many and varied things she had tried very hard not to think about lately. While Dawn had been happy when Willow and Tara had agreed to move in, to “keep an eye on her” until her Dad got in touch, it had been weird beyond weird to see the pair take over Mom’s old room, to start redecorating with their posters and knickknacks. Not wrong, exactly. Just…strange. “What’s up?” Willow asked, her fake cheeriness quickly changing to concern as she took in Dawn’s expression. “Another bad dream?”

“Uh…no,” Dawn said quickly. Oh great. Now that the moment was at hand, she had no idea what to say. “I just wanted to ask if you have any…um, I mean I need to borrow…um.” She felt her cheeks turn pink, took a deep breath to compose herself. “Girl things. Well, woman things, I guess. You know. Sanitary products?”

Willow stared at the teenager in confusion for a moment. “Sanitary products? You mean like bleach? You need to disinfect something, Dawnie?” she said, and then her mouth made a soft little “o”. “Oh! *Womanly* sanitary products. I get it. That must mean…” Willow ’s eyes went wide. “Oh, Dawnie! You got your period!”

*Geepers, Willow,* Dawn thought. *Do you think you could have shouted that any louder? I’m sure there’s someone in Nebraska who didn’t hear you.* The red-haired witch was bouncing excitedly on her toes. She threw her arms around Dawn’s shoulders and drew Dawn into a hug without stopping the bouncing, so that Dawn ended up jumping up and down with her. Against her will, Dawn smiled. The bouncing hug was just so *Willow*. “Come in, come in,” Willow said, breaking away, her face happy and excited. She pushed open the door and led Dawn to the bed— Tara was missing, presumably in the bathroom. Willow patted the comforter with a hand. “Sit down and tell me all about it!”

*Tell her all about it?* Dawn’s eyebrows shot up as she wondered just what, exactly, Willow wanted her to tell her. “Uh…not much to say,” she said awkwardly. “You know. Blood. In personal places.”

Willow nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes, I know,” she said. “But when? Just now? This morning?” Dawn nodded. Willow let out a little squeal and pulled her into another hug, effectively smothering Dawn against her chest. “Oh, Dawnie! I’m so proud of you!” 

“Mshprumpfa,” Dawn said. Laughing, Willow let her go. “There’s nothing to be proud of, Willow,” Dawn said, carefully straightening out her rumpled pajama top. “It’s not like I *did* anything to make it happen.”

“Don’t be silly. This is a VERY big deal. It means you’re growing up, and…” There was the soft sound of the bathroom door opening and closing. Willow turned her head to see her partner coming through the door, dressed in a simple white robe. In the pale morning light, the blonde witch looked almost angelic. “Ta-ra!” Willow sang out. “Did you hear the news? Dawnie got her period!!!”

“I heard,” Tara said.

She crossed the room and sat down on the bed, giving Dawn a gentle smile that instantly made Dawn feel both loved and comforted. Over the last few weeks, Dawn had learned that Tara had a magic of her own, subtler than Willow’s grand manipulations of time and space, but just as powerful. Tara seemed to bring peace wherever she went, reading other people’s emotions at a glance and smoothing them in ways Dawn had yet to entirely understand. The present moment was a very good example. Somehow, without using a single word, Tara managed to communicate to Dawn that she knew exactly how embarrassing Willow’s enthusiasm was, and silently promised that she would do her best to keep her exuberant partner under control. She also managed to communicate her own, much quieter, love and pride. “Congratulations, Dawn.”

Dawn took a deep breath, letting the blonde witch's love sink into her. It felt a bit like laying out on the beach, letting the sun sink deep into her skin. “Thanks, Ta—“

“We have to have a party,” Willow interrupted, eyes gleaming. “With cake, and ice cream, and party hats. A great big party to celebrate Dawnie’s official entrance into womanhood. Don’t you think, Tara?”

“I *think* you’d better ask Dawn what she wants,” Tara said, with another gentle smile. “Maybe she’d rather just have a quiet evening at home.”

“Nonsense,” Willow replied. “This is such a big deal. We have to do something special.” She got to her feet and started rifling through her desk in the corner, looking for pen and paper. “I’ll just send a quick note to Xander and Anya…better invite Giles and Spike too…”

“Willow!” Dawn’s voice came out as a squeak.

“What?” Willow turned, frowning when she saw that Dawn was almost turning purple. “What’s wrong, Dawnie?”

Dawn gestured helplessly at the air, hardly able to get the words out. “You…you can’t tell Xander,” she said. “You just can’t. You can’t, Willow.”

Willow looked confused. “Why not?” she said. “Somebody needs to bring the ice cream, and the Baskin Robbins is right on Xander’s way home from the construction site. He’ll…” She looked at Dawn’s apoplectic face, caught Tara ’s pointed gaze, and flushed. “Oh. Right. The embarrassment factor. Sorry, Dawnie. I didn’t think.” She thought deeply for a few minutes. “Tell you what. Why don’t we just tell everybody that we’re having a ‘Dawn is Special” day? All the festivities and fun of a true rite of passage, none of the mortification. Nobody will have to know the real reason we’re celebrating except for the three of us. Sound good?”

Dawn considered this. She thought about what the other girls at school had told her their mothers had done when they’d started; just about everyone had been taken out to dinner or treated to a new outfit at the mall. Of course the girls had all professed to being terribly embarrassed by this, but Dawn had thought it sounded kind of nice. A party would be a good thing. Especially if she didn’t have to tell anyone the real reason behind it. “That sounds okay,” Dawn said, and flushed as she felt a slight trickle starting in a very sensitive area. “Um, Willow? You know those sanitary supplies I asked you about?”

“Yes, Dawnie?”

“It, um, it might be good if I could have them sooner than later.”

“Oh! Of course.” Willow abandoned the desk for the bedside table, coming up with a fistful of short, individually wrapped cylinders. “Here you go, Dawnie. We’ll get you your own box later this morning, but this should get you started.”

“I—“ Oh, man. There was clearly no limit to the humiliation coming Dawn’s way today. “Aren’t those, um, tampons?”

“Well, yes,” Willow said blankly. “The best money can buy. Healthy, natural cotton…better for your body and the environment, too. With applicator, even. I…” Willow trailed off, confused by Dawn’s expression. “Is something wrong?”

Dawn squirmed. How on earth was she going to explain that the thought of putting something…inside…there…weirded her out even more than the thought of having her period in the first place? Not to mention that the tampons, in Willow’s slender hand, looked about as big around as a coke bottle. There was no way Dawn could ever imaging getting that inside her body. “I’m not sure,” she stuttered. “I mean, I don’t think I’ll know how to use…”

“Oh.” Willow looked briefly taken aback, then she rallied. “Well, the package comes with directions and a diagram, but it’s really quite simple. You just take off your panties and put one foot up on the toilet seat, then you feel for your inner labia with your fingers…”

Dawn was saved from immediate heart failure by Tara’s hand on her shoulder. “Or you could just start with these,” she said kindly, producing a bag of sanitary napkins from the closet. The bag, Dawn was pleased to see, said “Kotex Juniors” in pink and purple letters and was decorated with pictures of smiling teenage girls of about her own age. “I picked these up just after we moved in,” Tara said. “Just, you know, in case. They’re a bit less challenging for beginners.”

Dawn gave Tara a look of overwhelming gratitude, then clutched the bag to her chest and got the hell out of there, possibly setting a new speed record in the bedroom-to-bathroom dash. “If you need help, just holler!” Willow called out after her. The bathroom door banging shut was her only answer. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Probably the discussion of body parts was a bit too much,” Tara said, hiding her smile as she went to wrap Willow in a hug. “You have to remember, she’s kind of new to all this.”

“Right,” Willow said, nodding. “I’ll have to get her a copy of ‘Our Bodies, Ourselves,’ ASAP then. And ‘Woman’s Blood, Woman’s Power.’ And oh, that feminist bookstore across the street from the magic shop does great menstrual calendars. They make them up into these awesome moon-time gift baskets with red candles, bath salts, cramp tea, the whole works. I bet if I send a note to Anya she’ll pick one up…” Willow started toward the desk, was restrained by Tara’s encircling arms. “What?”

“Tone it down a little, love. All the presents in the world won’t do Dawn any good if she dies of embarrassment before she can use them,” Tara said. “And if she finds out you’ve told Anya the happy news, she’ll never speak to you again.”

“Well…” Willow said reluctantly. “I suppose the books and basket can wait for a few days. We’ll just have to come up with something else for the party tonight.” She looked up at Tara, who was no longer trying to hide her smile. “You’re laughing at me, aren’t you.”

“No,” Tara denied. She planted a kiss on Willow’s forehead. “It’s just nice to see you this excited about something, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s about time we had something to celebrate around here,” Willow said bluntly. “And I don’t want Dawnie to go through what I did when I got my period. My parents were both out of town at a conference at the time. Thank the gods Mrs. Harris—that’s Xander’s grandma, not his mom—was still alive, or I don’t know what I would have done. She took me to the grocery store for supplies, then made me tea and cookies to celebrate…but it was still, y’know, hollow. Sad.” The red head shrugged disconsolately. “I just want Dawn to look back on this day with happiness. That’s all.”

“I know you do,” Tara said, rubbing Willow’s shoulders. “Just don’t be disappointed if Dawn seems a bit ambivalent, all right? It’s a big change to go through, after all. And she’s going to miss Joyce and Buffy no matter what we do.” Willow nodded sadly. Tara softened. “But since Dawn’s agreed, I do think a party is a good idea. As long as we keep things simple.”

“Does that mean filling the dining room floor-to-ceiling with big red balloons is out of the question?”

“Yes.”

“Darn.”

***

Spike heard the “whoosh” of air being magically displaced and the ghostly sound of paper sliding itself under his front door. The first few times Spike had heard that happen, he’d been a bit unnerved. Now the sounds were becoming a commonplace event, and that was unnerving all by itself. “Witch is becoming too powerful for her own damn good,” Spike muttered as he strode to the door, where, just as he expected, he found a sheet torn from this year’s We’Moon page-a-day calendar lying on the dusty stone floor. On the back was a quick note scrawled in Willow’s distinctive handwriting. *Meeting at our place, soon as the sun goes down,* it read. *Full Scooby presence required. Bring party hats.*

Spike shook his head. Willow’s magical methods of note delivery he could accept; her blithe assumption that he was now officially a Scooby was another matter. “Bring party hats,” he groused. “What the hell do I look like, a damn delivery service? Next thing you know, they’ll be asking me to deliver the milk in the morning, too. Bloody cheek.”

He crumpled the note and threw it the floor. He was unsurprised when the paper dissolved into a puff of lavender smoke the second it hit the floor—Willow thought littering was a very serious offense—but, even though he'd expected it, the smoke simply added to his annoyance. “Damn do-gooder,” he mumbled, fishing in his coat pockets for cigarettes. “Now I’m not even allowed to mess up the floor of my own crypt, am I? Next thing you know, they’ll be telling me that my Docs send off the wrong social signals, or that my hair bleach is bad for the environment. I tell you. ” He lit the cigarette and sat down on the floor by the crypt’s entrance, carefully cracking the door open to the twilight so the smoke could float outside—Dawn sometimes came by the crypt to play checkers and hear stories, and second-hand smoke was so bad for a developing human’s lungs. When he realized what he was doing, Spike stared at his hand for a moment as though it belonged to somebody else, than sighed in defeat. “Might as well admit it, Spike,” he told himself glumly. “The day you started worrying about a bloody human chit’s chance of developing cancer was the day you officially resigned as Master of the Hellmouth. You’re a white hat now, official party good supplier to the Scooby Gang, about as terrifying as a teddy bear. William the Bloody has definitely left the building.”

He shook his head, meditatively watching the smoke curl from the end of this cigarette. Truth be told, he really didn’t mind his new station in life all that much. Well, of course he *minded*, but he also knew that things could have been a lot worse. With the chip in his head, his chance of surviving without the Scooby Gang was slim to none. And helping the kids did give him a place in the world…not as good a place as being Master of the Hellmouth, but it was a place all the same, with things to do and demons to slay and even a respect of a kind. The respect may be grudging, and it would always be cloaked in a layer of suspicion that made true friendship impossible, but it was there. And to a chipped vampire, unable to hunt and despised by all his kind, respect was a thing more precious than blood…

Then there was Dawn. Spike smiled as he though about the girl, pictured her dark hair and wide, admiring eyes. Talk about respect. Dawn had this way of looking at Spike that made him still feel like a vampire, someone strong and valuable. He might not be able to stop a worthless human drunk from beating him senseless, but he could protect Dawn from the demonic denizens of the Hellmouth night, and that knowledge was worth its weight in gold in terms of self-respect. Besides, the girl was bloody good company. By some miracle Spike was far too grateful to question, Dawn managed to see him with clearer eyes than any of the other Scoobies. She knew what he was, never forgetting his past and his capacity for violence, but somehow she also managed not to fear him because of it. If you added the girl’s inherent sweetness to the package, along with the womanly beauty that was just beginning to blossom, and Dawn’s way of looking at the world like it was marvelous and new—which, to Dawn, it still was—it really wasn’t any wonder that Spike found keeping the promise he’d made to Buffy to so easy. He actually looked forward to the three evenings a week that the witches had night classes and he had to “baby sit.” Spending time with Dawn was always an adventure…the Nibblet had a way of getting him to do things he never would have done under any other circumstances, like listening to boy-band pop and painting his fingernails “Berry Bright Magenta!” instead of black. But it was an adventure that had rewards Spike never could have envisioned.

Spike took another puff on his cigarette. Yes, if keeping his coveted place as Dawn’s protector meant he had to do the odd spot of gophering for the elder Scoobies, it was well worth the minor indignity. He waited for the sky outside the crypt to shade from grey to inky black, then stubbed out his cigarette on the stone floor and collected his coat, heading out into the night. Half an hour later he was knocking on the door of the Summers home, the required goods safely tucked into the paper bag in his hand. 

The door opened to reveal a very disapproving Xander. He had clearly just arrived himself, judging by the coat he wore and the small paper bag he, too, carried. “Spike,” Xander said coldly.

Spike smiled. That layer of suspicion that cloaked all the elder Scooby’s perceptions of him was especially pronounced in Xander—and as far as Spike was concerned, that was perfectly all right. It did a vampire’s heart good to still be considered a threat by *someone.* “Whelp,” he said, cordially enough.

“Don’t call me—“ With an effort, Xander stopped himself. He never won those sorts of arguments. “What are you doing here?”

Spike considered whether this question deserved an answer. It didn’t, but Xander was determinedly standing in the doorway, blocking his way. It was apparent that Spike wasn’t going to get inside unless he played nice. “Got me an invite, didn’t I?” he said, and when Xander merely eyed him skeptically Spike shrugged. “Red sent it just before sundown. I’d show it to ya, but it went poof the moment I finished reading.”

Xander relaxed. “Oh, yeah. Willow ’s magical anti-litter campaign,” he said ruefully. “My note dissolved, too. Nearly gave me a heart attack. I keep telling her there’s no shame in simply using the telephone.” He stood aside, letting Spike enter the house. “What’d she tell you to bring?”

“Party hats.”

Xander held up his own bag. “Ice cream,” he said. “Mocha Chocolate Chip. The note was very specific about the flavor. What do you suppose they have planned?”

Spike shrugged. “Can’t say, whelp. ‘Sfar as I know, there’s no demon in existence that can be poisoned with chocolate.” *Or embarrassed to death with silly party hats,* he thought, thinking of the amazingly frilly, pom-pom bedecked monstrosities that were the only hats the store had carried. Next time he’d really have to make an effort to track down a party shop that wasn’t owned by demons. Or at least not by demons intent on dominating the human world through bad taste. 

“Maybe there’s one that’s lactose intolerant,” Xander said, starting to shrug out of his coat. He was almost run down by Willow, who was dashing into the dining room with a heaping dish of little cheesy appetizers. “Yup, got to be the lactose,” he said. “Wills?” he called after the speeding witch. “What’s the Big Bad tonight? Has that weird cheese guy from our dream finally put in an appearance?”

“There’s no Big Bad. Not tonight.” Willow said sweetly, reappearing. She looked flushed but very, very, happy, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining. “We’re just having a little party for Dawnie, that’s all.”

“With cake,” Tara interjected, coming out of the kitchen, carrying a platter that did, indeed, hold a cake. It was frosted in pink icing and decorated with a plethora of hand-drawn moons and flowers. Tara gave Xander and Spike a welcoming smile and disappeared into the dining room.

“Ooo-kay.” Xander nodded slowly. “Not that I object to party-ness in any shape, or form, much less party-ness that includes cakey goodness, but did I miss a time warp here? Dawn’s birthday isn’t for another couple months, is it?” He turned to Spike. “Is it?”

*Of course it isn’t, you git,* Spike thought, not deigning to answer aloud as he took in Willow and Tara’s aura of intense womanly bustle. He could hear Little Bit’s heartbeat approaching the top of the stairway, but she didn’t come down. Instead, she hovered just out of sight behind the upper wall. Apparently she was eavesdropping on the conversation. 

“Of course it isn’t Dawn’s birthday,” Willow answered. “It’s just that…”

“Willow!” Dawn’s shocked face appeared around the edge of the wall. She was staring at the red-head in mortified adolescent horror.

“It’s just that we decided to have a Dawn-is-Special-Day today,” Willow finished smoothly. “For no particular reason. Just because Dawn is, y’know. Special.”

“I see.” Xander clearly didn’t see at all, but he’d had female friends almost exclusively for the last six years. He was used to things going over his head. “Well, no-one can argue with that. Dawn’s a very special girl.” Xander held his bag aloft and called up the stairs. “Happy Your Day, Dawnster. I brought mocha chocolate chip.”

“Really? That’s my favorite!” Mollified, Dawn skipped down the stairs, eagerly taking Xander’s bag from his hand. Spike could smell the shampoo she’d used to wash her hair, the inexpensive lemon-candy perfume she’d dabbed behind her ears, the laundry detergent on her clothes…and something else. He smiled to himself as he followed the little group into the dining room, his own bag of party supplies dangling forgotten from his hand. So the Little Bit had started her monthlies, had she? And the witches were determined to throw her a party to celebrate, even if the Bit’s tender feelings meant half the party’s guests had to be kept in ignorance? Very well. Spike would play along. It was only right that a girl should celebrate such a milestone with her family, after all. Even this odd, fractured, partially demonic family that was all Dawn had left…

As Spike walked into the dining room, his eye caught on one of the many silver-framed pictures of Buffy that now crowded the walls. He paused for a moment to take in the light that had shone from the dead slayer’s eyes, the sunshine that had been her smile. “She’s growing up, Slayer,” Spike said softly. “I know you wish you were here to see it; I reckon she wishes it, too. But you’re not, so I thought I’d just take a moment to tell you that she’s making a fine job of it. And to make sure you know that I’ll keep an eye on her as she does. I won’t fail you again.”

He brushed a magenta fingernail over the cold glass and went to join the others.

***

The party began in the finest tradition of Scooby parties throughout time. Lots of jokes were made, lots of cheesy appetizers were eaten and carbonated beverages were drunk, and then the entire company adjourned to the living room so that Dawn could open her presents. Giles arrived just as they were sitting down, bearing a large bouquet of crimson roses. He presented them to Dawn with a courtly flourish, causing the girl to blush ferociously and stammer that no one had ever brought her roses before. “Well, I’m sure I won’t be the last,” Giles said, missing Dawn’s second blush completely as he absently patted his coat pockets. “And there’s something else…drat, I know I put it here somewhere…ah, yes. Here it is.” Giles produced a small jewelry box wrapped in Magic Box gift paper. “Anya can’t be here tonight because she’s doing the yearly inventory, but she wanted to give you this. She said to tell you it’s from her and Xander.”

“It is?” Xander said blankly. Willow thumped him with her foot. “Oh, yes. Of course it is.” He looked up at Giles. “Thanks for bringing it, G-man.” 

Giles wrinkled his nose at the nickname, but he nodded cordially enough as he seated himself on a chair next to Willow. Everyone watched as Dawn carefully removed the paper and opened the box. “Wow,” Dawn said as she pulled out a slender golden chain, a chain that had a delicate gold pendant hanging from it. The pendant was set with a small red stone that flashed brilliantly in the light. “This looks…wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“I do,” Spike said, eyebrows raised. “That’s a fine bit of pretty you’ve got yourself there, pet. I don’t recognize the setting, but the stone’s a X’enitian ruby. Not magical, but tradition has it that those stones can only be worn by women of immense personal power. They’re very rare.” *Not to mention expensive,* he added to himself, turning from yet another of the Dawn Blushes to cast a curious gaze in Gile’s direction. The Watcher was leaning toward Willow, saying “I hope it’s what you had in mind?” in an undertone only Willow —and vampires gifted with demonic senses—could hear. Willow nodded mutely, and Spike looked at the witch with new respect. The magically decomposing note Willow must have sent to Anya at the Magic Shop had to have been wrapped around a heavy wad of cash. Or else it had carried a heavy dose of blackmail… 

Well, never mind. It was an appropriate gift for the occasion, and the Bit’s eyes were sparkling like she’s never seen jewelry before. She looked adoringly at Xander, who was still looking confused. Spike knew he had to step in before the whelp did something to shatter the illusion that the gift was from him. “It’s a very a nice gewgaw, pet,” Spike said. “You’ll have that for the rest of your life, I’ll bet. Want me to help you on with it?” 

Dawn nodded, and Spike fastened the chain around her neck, careful to keep his cold fingers from brushing the warm teenage skin. “Very pretty,” he said, stepping back to admire the effect of the red stone flashing in the hollow of Dawn’s slender throat. It almost looked like a vampire’s claim mark…and no, Spike was not going to continue that train of thought, not for all the blood in China. Instead he smiled charmingly. “Wish somebody had told me ahead of time that we were supposed to bring prezzies, love. I’d have stolen you something right nice, so I would.”

“Spike!” Dawn squealed and punched him in the arm. “You’re not supposed to *steal* presents.” She pouted prettily for a moment. “Besides. Willow said you brought the party hats.”

“Yeah! That’s what Spike told me, too,” Xander said. “Where’d you put them, Spike? We should break them out.” Xander fumbled behind the chair, finding the bag Spike had hoped would stay neatly tucked out of sight for the duration of the evening, and drew out a hat. Xander’s smile turned into an evil smirk. “Oh, man. It’s a shame vampires don’t photograph. I would give cold hard cash to have a permanent record of you wearing one of these.”

“Too bad,” Spike answered. “You won’t even have an impermanent record, whelp. Those hats are strictly for the humans in the room. My head stays bare.”

“Oh, Spike.” Dawn almost whined the words, and when Spike made the mistake of looking her way he could see that her big brown eyes were open puppy-dog wide. “Won’t you try one on, just for a minute? For me?”

Oh dear. Spike opened his mouth to protest, but another barrage of Pleading Girl Eyes silenced him. Damn it, was that expression instinctive behavior in human females? Or was it a learned behavior, passed from mother to daughter throughout the millennia? Whatever it was, Spike knew he was powerless against it. He held out his hand. Barely managing to contain his laughter, Xander gave him the hat. Spike placed it on his head with dignity and glared around the room, daring anyone to laugh. The fact that he allowed a bit of yellow to show in his eyes when he looked at everyone but Dawn may have had something to do with the fact that nobody did. “Wow,” Xander said, clearly awed. “That’s…quite a look on you, Spike.”

“I agree,” Giles said. He seemed rather hypnotized by the sight. “I think the pink pom-poms are what really make it.”

Xander swallowed. “Not the big white daisies?”

“No.” Giles shook his head solemnly. “The daisies are nice, but the pom-poms are the essential touch. Unless…” He squinted at Spike thoughtfully. “Unless you count that little plastic wobbly hippo head on the spring that’s sticking out of the top…” 

Spike merely grinned menacingly and selected hats for Xander and Giles. Xander’s was liberally embellished with mint green pom-poms and a little fuzzy sheep instead of a hippo, and the Watcher’s was orange with a kitten. “Here you go, gents,” Spike said. “Wouldn’t want to hog all the fun, now would I? And I know you lot wouldn’t want to disappoint Dawn.” He lowered his voice. “And remember, unlike me, you two *do* show up on film.”

An expression crossed the two men’s faces that said facing an apocalypse would be more welcome than this, but Dawn Looked at each of them, and soon the hats were settled on their heads. Spike smiled evilly and relaxed back onto the couch, glad to see that the embarrassment was being spread around. “Okay, Dawnie!" Willow said brightly. "Time for one more gift.” She leaned down and produced a brightly wrapped box from under the couch. “This is from Tara and me. Happy Day, kiddo.”

“Another gift? Wow,” Dawn said happily. “Thank you, guys. This is turning into the best day ever.” She opened it, revealing a cardboard box, and the smile slowly faded from her face. “Oh.”

Xander stared at her, then at the box. “Shoes?” he said, not comprehending. “You and Tara bought Dawn shoes? What’s so special about that?” 

Spike frowned. It was obvious that Dawn was upset. She stared down at the box, her face turned to stone. Spike knew he wasn’t the only one to see it: both Giles and Tara were also regarding Dawn with alarm, clearly wondering what had gone wrong. But Willow didn’t notice. “Not just any shoes,” she corrected Xander. “Shoes with *heels*. Dawn’s very first pair.” She turned to Dawn. “Aren’t I right, Dawnie?”

Dawn gave the barest of possible nods, still looking down. Tara shot Giles an agonized look and crossed the room, sitting next to Dawn. “W-we got you pumps,” she said, gently slipping her hand into the box and removing a basic white pump with a very modest heel. “Because, you know, they go with everything, and they’re easier to learn how to walk in than sandals. Willow and Anya and I will all give you lessons…” Dawn still said nothing. Tara swallowed. “Dawn? Don’t you like them?”

“I—“ Dawn finally looked up, and Spike could see that her eyes were wet with unshed tears. “I—they’re lovely, Tara . It’s just…” She wiped at her eyes fractiously with the back of her hand. “I’m not really old enough for them, am I? Mom always said I’d have to wait until I turned 15 to wear heels. She said…” Dawn’s voice choked. “She said she’d get me a pair for my 15th birthday.”

A horrified silence fell. “Oh,” Tara said, clearly stricken. “Well, in that case, Dawn, we could just tuck them away for a while. It’s only a few months…I’m sure they’ll still fit you then…”

“Nonsense.” Willow’s voice was harsh. “Buffy wore heels all the time when she was fourteen. I know, I've seen the pictures. Besides, Dawn needs a new pair of dress shoes. The pair she wore to the funeral are much too small.” Willow crossed her arms and settled back into the couch. “I know Joyce wouldn’t mind if she were here. Put them on, Dawn.”

Dawn looked unhappy. “But—“

“Tell you what,” Spike interjected, shooting a disgusted look at Willow before turning his attention to Dawn. “Those look like a fine pair of dancing shoes, pet, and it’s been a long time since I’ve waltzed with a pretty girl. Why don’t you slip them on for just a minute and toddle around the rug with me? See how well they fit, like.” He leaned over and whispered in Dawn’s ear, pitching his voice so only the girl could hear. “Don’t blame the witch, love. She didn’t know, just thought she was doing somethin’ nice for ya. Just put them on for a moment now to make her happy, and then after they’ve gone to bed you can chuck ‘em in the bin for all I care. All right?”

Dawn swallowed and nodded, shooting Spike a grateful look. “I...suppose it wouldn’t hurt just to try them on,” she said. She started unlacing her sneakers.

“Hey,” Xander protested. “Shouldn’t I have the honor of the first in-heels dance? I’ve been a member of the Dawn Fan Club a lot longer than you have, Spike.”

“Oh, yeah?” Spike grinned menacingly. “I’ve seen you dance, Harris. Don’t want the Lil’ Bit to take a chance on ending up with a shoe full of broken toes.”

“Right,” Xander scoffed. “Like Mr. William the Bloody is the world’s greatest personification of style and grace.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that I’ve waltzed in some of the finest ballrooms in Europe .” 

“Before or after you ate the orchestra?”

“Gentlemen,” Giles said mildly, stepping in. “There’s only one way to solve this. As senior male present…” Spike coughed. “In position, if not in age,” Giles continued smoothly, “*I* shall take the honor of the first dance.” He walked to Dawn, and bent from the waist in courtly bow. “Miss Summers, if I may be so bold?”

And the disaster was averted. Spike lounged on the couch, well pleased, as Giles led Dawn out to the middle of the living room rug. He didn’t mind being done out of the dance. It was enough to have smoothed the moment over. Tara still looked troubled, but Willow was grinning like a madwoman, good humor restored. Spike shook his head at her lack of sensitivity and returned his attention to Dawn, who was giggling as she wobbled around the floor in her jeans and heels and bobby socks, sometimes stumbling, always laughing as Giles’s sure arms kept her from falling to disaster. It was good to see the girl smile again, let alone to hear that laugh; Dawn had been unnaturally somber for much too long. Spike watched her hungrily, enjoying the sight.

It would be the last time he saw Dawn laugh for a very long time.

***

For the next three months, Dawn experienced a crash course in what it meant to be a woman. She roller-coasted from one emotion to another, experiencing salt cravings and sugar cravings and even cherry-Jell-O-spread-on-toast cravings as her body got accustomed to the cycling hormones that would be her constant companions for the next thirty to forty years. She got used to the sight of the toilet paper coming away all bloody when she went to the bathroom to pee, discovered that she needed to place the pads in a different location in her panties depending on whether she was going to be spending the next few hours standing up or sitting down or sleeping on her stomach, and learned why a cardigan tied around the waist so that the body of the sweater covered her ass could sometimes be a girl’s best friend. She learned how to remove blood stains from her jeans and sheets—cold water and spot remover if Willow wasn’t home, magic if she was—and grew accustomed to the way her skin broke out just before the bleeding began. Eventually, after several weeks of spotting nearly every weekend, it even started looking like her cycle was starting to settle into a rhythm. Willow predicted that, in time, Dawn would become just as regular as she and Tara were. Dawn’s body was beginning to adjust.

It wasn’t as easy for her mind. Dawn knew she was supposed to expect mood swings, crying jags and shouting spells right along with the pimples and the water retention. What she hadn’t expected was the total feeling of despair she experienced every time she saw those tell tale spots of blood, every time she had to haul the package of pads out of the bathroom cupboard and start using them again. It was a bit like falling down a well. Blackness would surround her; she’d feel trapped, unable to move or speak, and when Willow and Tara were away she’d spend hours locked in her room, arms wrapped around her knees as she tried to keep her body from shaking. She managed to put on a happy smile whenever the older women were around, and if she no longer laughed or ate as much as she used to, neither witch seemed to think her behavior was out of the ordinary. They were both really busy, anyway, researching some mysterious magical project they wouldn’t talk about. Dawn was just as glad. All she really wanted to do was disappear; having Willow and Tara blunder in with well meaning questions would have made everything worse. The last thing Dawn wanted was for them to notice her depression.

But somebody else did.

Spike had been watching Dawn for weeks, growing increasingly puzzled…and increasingly worried. It wasn’t any one thing. There was no crisis, no demon, no new apocalypse to fight. It was just that, after the party, Dawn seemed to go into a sharp decline. She withdrew into herself, refusing to go out for movies or slumber parties with her little friends. At first Spike was willing to let it go; after all, the Nibblet was a woman now, and if there was one thing his unlife had taught him, it was that women had to be allowed their little moods. He was certain that Dawn would snap out of it soon enough. All she needed was time.

But as the summer months went by, and Dawn got worse instead of better, Spike began to wonder. The teenager stopped talking at all unless spoken to first, and then the answers were usually monosyllabic. And the truly scary thing was that Spike seemed to be the only one to notice. All the other Scoobies suddenly had places to go and things to do; Spike suspected that each one assumed that everyone else was watching out for Dawn, and so the teenager got overlooked. Spike was the only one to notice that Dawn, who had once placed shopping as second only to breathing in her list of life’s necessities, hadn’t bough a new outfit all summer. He was the only one who noticed when she crammed her body into jeans that had grown too short and shirts that gotten too tight, and either went barefoot or else wore battered tennis shoes that Spike was sure had gotten too small, since Dawn limped whenever she wore them. Likewise, Spike was the only one to notice that Dawn’s depression was cyclical. It never lifted completely, but it got much, much worse on the days when the sharp tang of blood in her scent told Spike that Dawn was menstruating. She tended to walk around like a zombie on those days, eating little if anything at all, staring into space for hours at a time…and Spike was getting worried. Something wasn’t right.

He tried to take Willow aside to talk to her about it, figuring that, as a female and defacto new mother figure, Willow had a much better chance of sussing out the Nibblet’s problems than Spike did. But the witch dismissed all his concerns without really listening, muttering something about Dawn just “being the way fourteen year old girls are” and headed back to her magic books without so much as another word. Frustrated, Spike let another week go by. But when he caught Dawn pulling fractiously at the waistband of her jeans, jeans that had somehow grown too big in the waist as well as too short in the leg as the teenager’s weight plummeted, Spike knew he had to step in. He went to the Magic Shop and sought out Giles. “Look, mate,” he said. “I don’t want to alarm you, but we’ve got a situation on our hands. Something’s been eatin’ at our Nibblet. Somethin’ bad.”

Giles dropped the book he was carrying with a thump. “Good god,” he said. “What is it, Spike? Vampires? Thunderast demons? God help me… I knew the summer was going by much too quietly to last.” He reached under the counter, coming up with a shiny battle axe and a handful of stakes. “Where is she? At the hospital? I’ll call Xander and Anya right away… Willow and Tara must be frantic…”

“No, no, no,” Spike said hurriedly. He put a hand on the Watcher’s arm to restrain him from getting any more weapons, carefully keeping out of reach of the stakes. “I didn’t mean eating at her LITERALLY, Rupes. Bloody hell, that’ll teach me to use metaphors on the Hellmouth.” He stuffed his hands into his duster pockets, awkwardly shrugging his shoulders. “I just meant that somethin’s been botherin’ her, is all. Somethin’ big.”

Giles blinked at him. “Something’s bothering Dawn,” he repeated. “What, Spike?”

“Well, if I knew that, I’d have fixed it by now, now wouldn’t I?” Spike said testily. “All I know is that something is. She’s been walking around like the whole world’s out to get her, and she’s decided ta give in and let it. There's no fight left in her at all. It seems…” He hesitated, then decided to go for broke. “It seems to be at its worst when she’s having her monthlies. You know,” he continued when Giles simply continued to look baffled. “Her bloody time? The Curse?”

Giles stared at him. “The Curse? You mean…oh. Oh. I see.” Flustered, Giles removed the glasses from his face and started rubbing the lenses with the edge of his cardigan, clearly playing for time. “I see,” he said again. “And you would know this because?”

Spike smiled ferally. “Vampire here,” he said, tapping his nose for emphasis. “I can’t help being able to smell a single drop of blood at a thousand paces, now can I? If I can tell that you cut yourself shaving this morning, I can sure as hell tell when the Nibblet’s on the rag.”

“Oh.” Giles went pale. He sat down heavily on a nearby chair. “Oh dear. You mean you can smell when they…when all the girls are…?” Spike nodded. “That’s…um, that’s really quite disturbing.”

Spike shrugged. “You’re the species with the weird biological functions, mate,” he said. “It’s not like I ask ‘em to smell all bloody once a month. Just happens, is all.” He looked down at his feet. “And when it happens to Dawn, she goes all gothic. Broody. Unstable. Haven’t you noticed?”

“Errr, no. I can’t say as I have,” Giles answered stoically. He rubbed tiredly at his face. “But—and I’ll admit I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing, but still—my understanding is that it’s not unusual for women to experience some…emotional discomfort…associated with their, ah, monthly cycles. Especially the young ones. Something to do with getting accustomed to the hormonal fluctuations…”

“It’s not PMS, Giles,” Spike said, rapidly loosing patience. “I can *smell* that. Hell, I’ve been surrounded by female Scoobies for almost a year now. I can smell an adolescent hormone swing from almost as far as I can smell blood. The slayer used to reek of ‘em…” He trailed off, seeing the surprise and pain that came into Giles’s eyes at the slightest mention of Buffy, and cursed himself for his misstep. “Anyway, Dawn doesn’t smell like that,” Spike finished dully. “She smells like…like pain. Not physical pain, either, so don’t go talking to me about cramps and such. It’s much deeper than that.”

“We all smell like pain, Spike,” Giles said quietly, coming to his feet. “It’s only been a handful of months since we lost Buffy, after all. We all miss her. Dawn most of all.” He placed a gentle, surprisingly compassionate hand on Spike’s shoulder. “You must give her time, Spike. It’s been a difficult summer. When school starts again in the fall…”

“When school starts again in the fall, she’ll just get worse,” Spike snapped. “I’m tellin’ you, Giles. If we don’t figure out what’s going wrong now, school’s going to be a holy disaster. She’ll start cutting classes again, maybe get into drugs, or worse. Bad things can happen to girls on the Hellmouth who don’t have the strength to stand up for themselves. You ought to know that better than anyone, mate.”

“I think you’re underestimating Dawn, Spike. And us,” Giles said tartly. “Dawn’s a bright young girl who has a lot of people who care about her. That’s more than enough to keep her out of the kind of trouble you’re implying.” Spike glared at him. Giles sighed. “Believe me, Spike. Now that you’ve brought this matter to my attention, I will keep my eyes open. We all will. But I have to say that I think you’re creating a tempest in a teapot.” He gave Spike another conciliatory pat. “Have you considered the possibility that you might be projecting some of your own insecurities onto Dawn? After all, you did promise Buffy that you’d look after her…and now that Dawn’s growing up, becoming more self-sufficient, that vow isn’t as necessary as it used to be. Are you sure you aren’t overstating things simply to justify your continued involvement in Dawn’s life?” 

Spike stared at Giles in disbelief. *He thinks I’m making this all up. He’s taking my concern and twisting it into some kind of bleedin’ emotional crisis. Bastard…* “Vampires don’t get ‘empty nest syndrome’, Watcher,” he spat. “Something’s really wrong. I mean it.”

“All the same.” The Watcher smiled, a very maddening expression. “You look a bit out of sorts yourself to me, Spike. Tired. Not thinking clearly. Perhaps you should consider taking a small vacation, getting out of Sunnydale for a while.” He paused. “And rethink your priorities while you’re at it.”

“Right,” Spike said, so angry now that his hands were literally shaking with the repressed desire to beat the former librarian bloody. “Right. Of course. Just because you lot are too blind to see what’s going under your noses, *I* must be crazy.” He collected his coat and headed for the door, ready to storm out into the night…and hesitated. “You know what, Watcher?” he said, turning back. “I think your own priorities might need a little fine tuning. You hate the fact that Buffy trusted me…trusted me so much that I was the one she asked to keep an eye on little ‘sis, not you. You hate it so much that you’re willing to do anything to cut me down. Even let Dawn suffer.”

Giles remained calm. “I’m not convinced that Dawn IS suffering,” he said, in such an annoyingly reasonable tone that Spike longed to get his hands around his throat. “At least not any more than is normal under the circumstances. If you could bring me some concrete evidence…”

“What kind of evidence do you need? The girl lying in bathtub full of blood with razor cuts on her wrists?” Spike shook his head angrily. “No, Watcher, I’m not going to wait for that. Unlike some people, I actually keep my promises when I make them.”   
He stormed through the door. Leaving a speechless Giles behind him.

***

Convinced, now, that he wouldn't get any help from any of Dawn’s so called “friends”, Spike swung into action. Dawn didn’t know it, but from dusk to dawn every single night, Spike’s eyes followed her wherever she went. He spied through the dining room window when she ate, noting every bite she took, and crouched on the roof outside her bedroom when she slept, counting every breath. He was there the evening that Dawn, eyes dead and motions zombie-like, methodically stripped every single boy-band poster off her bedroom walls; he was there the night she chucked every single tube of lipstick and nail polish she owned into the garbage, carrying the bag out to the curb before either Willow or Tara could notice. He watched her go down into the basement and return with box after box of childhood mementos, setting out her old stuffed animals in a line on her bed while the despair scent Spike been smelling for months grew to epic proportions. Spike knew it all had to be connected. Toys, posters, makeup, and scent all had to be part of the puzzle, clues to why his Nibblet was feeling the way she was. But for the life of him, he couldn’t figure it out.

It wasn’t until the night that Marcia, apparently acting under instructions from her mother, reluctantly showed up to take Dawn to the movies, that the proverbial light bulb finally went on. Spike had been tailing the girls from a safe distance, listening to them argue: Dawn wanted to see the latest Pixar animated project, while Marcia wanted to see some R-rated bloodfest. “Don’t be such a *child*, Dawn,” Marcia said. “Angie’s older brother works at the theater. He’ll let us sneak in, no problems. Besides.” Marcia lowered her voice to a whisper. “Michael called me earlier and told me that he and Alex were going to see this showing. You know Alex *likes* you.”

Dawn sniffed. “I couldn’t care in the slightest who or what Mr. Alex Boyd likes,” she said. “We’re going to see the fish movie and that’s final.”

Spike pricked up his ears. Not that he was wild about the prospect of his Nibblet meeting a boy in an R-rated movie…in fact, the very idea made him want to shift into demon face out of sheer fatherly indignation. But he was very surprised that *Dawn* didn’t want to do it. Wasn’t a bit of mildly illegal mayhem with a boy the goal of every teenage girl? Marcia seemed equally surprised. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, her hands on her hips. “I don’t believe this,” she said. “The cutest boy in our grade, and you want to stand him up to see a movie about fish?”

Dawn shrugged. “It got really great reviews.”

“I don’t care about the reviews!” Marcia looked disgusted. “Geez, what is wrong with you, Dawn? You practically disappear for the entire summer, and now all you want to do is baby things. See stupid animated movies, go ride the merry-go-round in the park…” She shook her head. “When are you going to grow up?”

Dawn got very quiet. She murmured something that Spike couldn’t’ hear. 

Neither, apparently, did Marcia. “What was that?”

“I said, never if I can help it. Enjoy the movie, Marcia.” And Dawn spun on her heel and walked home.

Spike managed to duck behind a tree just in time to avoid being seen by the stalking teenager. He followed her until she disappeared inside her house, stunned by the force of Dawn’s last words to her friend, even more stunned by what they meant. The answer had been under his nose all this time.

Dawn didn’t want to grow up.

***

It made sense, when Spike thought about it. It explained the clothes, the make up, the stuffed animals and more. All were signs of a little girl trying desperately to hold onto her girlhood. And who could blame her? The two most important adult women in her life were both dead. The two who should have stepped into their shoes were both totally oblivious, lost in a whirlwind of school and womyn’s groups and The Powers knew what else. Who did Dawn have to guide her? Who did she have to show her that growing up wasn’t all about broken hearts and averting apocalypses? 

Who did she have to tell her that a woman was actually a very worthwhile thing to be?

Spike retired to his crypt, smoking and pacing as he thought the matter over. The more he paced, the more frustrated he got. It was a bloody tragedy, that’s what it was. Dawn’s body was rapidly becoming capable of wonders the girl had never suspected, pleasures and ecstasies that would make all the other pains of growing up worthwhile…but who was going to teach her that this was true? Willow? The witch was much too wrapped up in her own affairs, even if she hadn’t had a different sexual orientation. Giles? The man could hardly say “PMS” without choking. Xander? Maybe…if Anya’s idle chatter was anything to go on, the whelp knew more than enough about female bodies to be an asset in Dawn’s sexual education. But Dawn thought of him as family, and human sexual taboos were such that Spike knew even talking about such intimate matters with Xander would hurt Dawn more than it would help. Who else then? Her girlfriends at school? The teenage boys that were starting to sniff around? No, no, and no. Spike had seen some of them, looked at their pimply faces and smelled their out of control hormones, and he knew they weren’t the solution either. They were all as ignorant as Dawn was. And while doubtless the pull of nature would lead her into the back of one of their cars eventually, Spike knew that without her mother and sister to console her afterward, a typical clumsy adolescent encounter might very well end up scaring Dawn for life. She needed REAL teaching, not teenage fumbling, if she was going to break through this self-imposed stasis. If she was going to become the woman she was meant to be…

Spike stretched out on his crypt, banging his head against the stone in frustration. He knew what Dawnie needed, and in another time and place he would have been happy to provide it. Would have been glad to bestow the first kiss that would awaken the princess from her girlish sleep. Would have taken his time mapping the tender young skin with hands and mouth until Dawn knew exactly which places made her thrill and what kind of touches made her tremble, then introduced the girl to sex with a gentle thoroughness that would have left Dawn in no doubt of her womanhood and the myriad joys inherent in that state. But they were living in this world, and so Spike was operating under the same limitations that Xander was: the curse of being family. He’d seen enough episodes of Oprah and Dr. Phil on the telly to know that crossing the line from the half brotherly, half fatherly protector role he’d been in all summer to seductive lover would hurt Dawn unimaginably…even if there hadn’t been a line of five stake-wielding humans ready to dust him when the deed was done. Damn. Spike would be lucky if dusting was all he got. Willow could just as easily magic him into a hell dimension for a thousand years instead. So what was he going to do?

It took Spike several days to formulate a plan. It wasn’t a great plan. Perhaps it was even a monumentally stupid plan. But it was a plan all the same…and Spike simply couldn’t let the Nibblet go on the way she was going. To live was to grow, and if the Nibblet couldn’t embrace the growth that was coming her way, she would be forced to endure a living death. Her suffering would just continue to worsen, until some Hellmouth beastie or other realized she was a dead spirit walking around in a living body and decided to correct the problem for her. Spike knew he couldn’t let that happen. And even though he couldn’t touch her in this world, couldn’t do what needed to be done…well, there were other worlds besides this one. He waited for sundown, and then he went to a magic shop.

Not the Magic Box. The store Spike sought out was a demon magic shop, without either a name or a permanent location. The shop was multidimensional in nature, and thus had access to products the now-human Anya could only dream of stocking. Customers had to grab what they found on the shelves quickly, before they faded away or changed into something else. The floor had a tendency to change from stone to sand to ugly beige carpeting while you were standing on it, too. In fact, the only truly stable thing about the place was the proprietor, a glasses-wearing demon who reminded Spike so strongly of Giles that visiting the shop was always quite eerie. On this particular day, the owner was sitting on a stool behind the counter reading a battered copy of Oliver Twist. Spike shifted into his demon face and walked right up to him, planting his hands squarely on the counter. “I need something.”

“Yessss?” The shop’s owner spoke with a reptilian hiss. Nevertheless, the pointed look he shot at Spike’s hands, which were in danger of smudging the spotless countertop, was human in the extreme. “What issss thissss sssssomething you need?”

“Mojo. Amulet, maybe. Or a potion. Something easy to control.” For the thousandth time, Spike questioned the wisdom of the plan: Spike and magic were not the best of mates. Something always went wrong at exactly the worst moment, and the Little Bit’s happiness was much too important to play games with. But damnit…something had to be done. He wasn’t going to see Dawn pine away into nothing. Or throw herself at the first Riley Finn look-alike who happened to glance her way simply because she needed teaching no one else could give. Spike cleared his throat. “I heard there’s ways of walking into someone’s head when they’re asleep. Into their dreams.”

“You sssseak entrancccce into the Realm of Morpheuoussss?”

Spike shrugged. “Guess so.”

“And whossssssse dreamsssss do you wissssssh to enter?”

“None of your business, mate.” The demon simply raised an eyebrow and waited, giving the impression that he was more than happy to sit there staring at Spike for the next hundred years. Perhaps he was. A whole thirty seconds passed before Spike broke. “All right. If you have to know, I suppose you have to know. It’s for this girl I know. I need to tell her things, need to show her things I could never show her while she’s awake. Need her to hear me, but she can’t know I’m the one who speaks. I thought if I could do it in a dream it would be perfect. She’d get the message, but she wouldn’t know it came from me. She’d just think it was her subconscious mind playing tricks.”

“I sssssee.” The owner cocked his head one side. “You wissssh to sssspeak of love, and the girl would only reject you if your wordssss were spoken on this plane?”

“It’s not like that,” Spike protested. The owner raised his other eyebrow. “All right, all right, so maybe it is like that,” Spike admitted. “But it’s not for the reason you’re thinking. I’m not trying to take advantage, believe it or not. Just trying to…help.” He leaned forward, and for reasons he didn’t entirely understand he let his face slip back into its human shape. Maybe because his vamp face could never show the pleading his human features could. “Please. If you can help, let me know. Otherwise I’ll just have to think of something else.”

There was a squeaking of floorboards as the demon laboriously moved backward from the counter, disappearing into the shadows at the back of the shop. For a moment Spike thought he’d been turned down. But then the shop's owner reappeared, and in his softball-glove sized hand was something bright and silver. “Amulet of Wilda,” the owner said. “Placccce it on top of your object’ssss picture before you go to ssssleep and your two mindssss will be joined.”

He tipped the amulet into Spike’s hand. Spike stared at it for a long moment, instantly distrustful. Mojo never worked that simply. There was always fine print. “Joined,” he said doubtfully. “Does that mean I will be dreaming as well? It can’t work like that. I need to walk into her dreams, not the other way around.” He shuddered at the thought of Dawn getting a peek at some of his bloodier dreams and nightmares, let alone the erotic ones that featured Dru and even Angelus in all his violent glory. The girl would never recover.

“If that’ssss true, there issss an alternative,” the demon said mildly.

Spike raised his eyebrows. “Alternative,” he said. “That sounds…expensive, mate.”

“Not expensive. Merely more…complicated.” The demon answered. “You’ll have to enter Morpheoussss’ssss realm while ssssstill in a waking sssstate yoursssself. Which will require…” He gave a thoughtful librarian’s frown. “A portal, and an offering. Morpeoussss doessss not take kindly to visitorssss transsssversing hissss domain under their own power. Usually ssssurrendering your free will is a prerequisite for entry.”

Spike nodded. This sounded more like it. He’d been around long enough to know that there was no such thing as a free lunch when it came to magic. “What kind of offering?”

A shrug. “It doessssn’t matter. Morpheous has little need for corporeal possssesssssionssss. What matterssss issss that the offering issss of great perssssonal importance to you.” The owner removed his glasses, polishing them in such a Giles-like gesture that Spike was quite unnerved. Maybe it wasn’t coincidence. Maybe this demon really *was* Giles from an alternate dimension. Sort of like Vampire Willow… “What will you give, Ssssspike? How important is it that thissss girl-child truly hearsss your wordsss?”

Spike’s jaw hardened. “It’s important,” he said. “I’ll come up with something worthy.” The proprietor nodded. “How do I get the offering to this Morpheous bloke? Burn it?”

The demon shook his head. “The amulet will open the portal,” he said. “Ssssimply wait until your object is assssleep, then hold her photo in your hand while you rub the amulet in a circle over the floor. A portal will open. Put your offering within it, and wait. If Morpheoussss findssss you worthy, the offering will dissssappear and the portal will open wide enough for you to sssstep through.” The demon looked troubled. “If not…”

“I’ll be worthy,” Spike said grimly. He tucked the amulet in his pocket, took a deep breath. “What do I owe you, mate?”

“Twenty human dollars will do.”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve had to lower many of my pricccessss in order to ssssstay in bussssinessss.” The demon made a sour face. “Too many of my customerssss have turned to shhhhopping on Ebay.”

“I see.” Spike counted out the cash, thinking wistfully that he was going to have to hit up one of the Scoobies for a loan. Being a white hat may have its advantages, but making money certainly wasn’t one of them. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“There issss a plant you may find usssseful. An infusssion of its berriessss will help you stay alert within the Realm.”

“Wolfsbane? Mandrake?”

“Coffee.” The demon smiled. “I recommend a double shot espresssssso from Ssssstarbucks.”

“Right.”

***

Later that night, Spike sat on the cold stone floor of his crypt, all the ingredients necessary for his spell assembled in front of him: the amulet, a photo of Dawn freshly swiped from the Summers’ front hall, and even a little cardboard cup of coffee gently steaming off to the side. His offering lay in his lap in a soft blue heap. Spike had wracked his brains trying to decide what it should be, and finally concluded he only owned one thing that was valuable enough: the blue cashmere sweater he had once nicked from Buffy’s bedroom, the one that still smelled faintly of the dead Slayer’s perfume. He’d once thought that he would keep it until he, too, was dust, but Dawn’s misery had changed his mind. Spike picked up the coffee cup and downed a hearty dose of caffeine, then put it down and picked up the amulet. Holding Dawn’s photo in his other hand, he slowly inscribed a circle on the floor.

The special effects were pretty much what he’d expected. The floor inside the circle wobbled like the surface of a pond with a stone tossed in, then began to shine with golden light in a way that said “serious magic is about to happen.” Spike took a deep breath and placed the sweater in the very middle of the circle. The fabric hung in the middle of the ring for a long moment. Then the portal made an indescribable sound, half tearing paper, half magical chime, and the sweater disappeared. The portal spread out across the floor, becoming roughly vampire sized. “Well, Nibblet,” Spike said aloud. “Looks like I’ve been accepted. Ready or not, here I come.”

He dove in head first.

Darkness. Disorientation. Spike regained his feet in a dark place not unlike his own crypt, but much, much, gloomier. There was a thick netting of cobwebs obscuring the way forward, and the dank scent of rotting leaves and stagnant water hung in the air. Spike pushed through the cobwebs and stumbled into a circle of moonlight: a circle that included 3 graves, 2 tombstones, and Dawn. She was dressed in the same dress Glory had made her wear the day that Buffy died, and she was sitting on the edge of the unmarked grave, dangling her feet into the hole. Her hands were idly playing with the dirt and sod at the grave’s edge, and she was humming a mindless little tune. Spike approached her cautiously, not wanting to scare her, not wanting to make this dream scene any more nightmarish than it already was. “Nibblet?”

Dawn looked up. If seeing him surprised her at all, she didn’t show it. She just kept playing with the soil and the grass, digging her fingers into the fragrant earth. “Hello, Spike,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

It was obvious that the question had been asked more or less on auto pilot. Dawn resumed her humming the moment the words were past her lips, and there was no curiosity on her face. No emotion of any kind, really. Spike approached slowly, carefully avoiding the freshly turned earth of the other two graves. “I’m looking for you, Lil’ Bit,” he said honestly. “What are *you* doing here?”

She gave a casual little shrug. “This is where I belong,” she said, as calmly as if they were discussing whether she’d eaten eggs of pancakes for breakfast. “With the rest of the Summers Women.”

She nodded at the two gravestones, one of which simply read “MOMMY” and the other “BUFFY” in a rough, child-like scrawl. Spike controlled his fear. Things were clearly much worse than he had thought. “Not quite a woman yet,” he said as he stepped closer and sat next to Dawn, trying to suppress a shudder as his Docs dangled into the void of the Nibblet’s grave. “And you’re missing something very important, pet. They’re dead. You’re not.”

“I might as well be,” Dawn said serenely. “I can’t go on without them.” 

She got up and started moving amongst the graves, still humming that mindless hum. Spike watched her, terror gripping his heart. “Yes, you can, love,” he said, trying to make the words as gentle as he could. “You can. And you are. Why, look at how far you’ve come just this summer. You’re growing beautifully. Coming into your own, like.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” For the first time, Dawn showed some true emotion. She stood between the two tombstones, one hand on each, and glared at Spike with anger. “I’ve gone precisely nowhere this summer, done precisely nothing. Where’s the growth in that?”

“Oh, Nibblet. You can’t see it. You’re too close to it. But I can.” Spike got to his feet and approached her. “Just surviving this summer at all was a triumph, pet. Believe me. I know.”

“Was it?”

“It was.” He nodded emphatically. “Eventually…” *if I can pull you through this*, he thought… “you’ll discover that you did more than just survive. You’ll realize the strength you’ve gained, how formidable it makes you. It’ll come in handy later, pet. When you’re grown.”

Dawn stared at him for a long moment, clearly thinking this over. Then, she shook her head. “I’m not going to grow up, Spike.”

If he’d had a heart to beat, it would have stopped. With great effort, Spike kept his voice calm. “And why do you say that, pet?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Much to Spike’s surprise, Dawn began to sniffle. “Mom and Buffy are both gone. I can’t grow up without them.” She looked sadly at the graves. “I *need* them. To tell me what to do. Without them, I’ll mess up.”

“Oh, Nibblet.” Spike shook his head sadly. “I’ve got news for you. You would have messed up a-plenty even if they were both still alive.” Dawn looked up, startled. Spike gave a gentle shrug. “It’s all a part of the game, pet. The mistakes are part of the growing, too. And you’re not on your own, you know. Between the me and the witches and the Watcher and the Whelp I imagine we’ll keep you from going to far off the rails.” He took a careful step forward. “That’s not a good reason to stop growing up.” 

“But—“ And suddenly Dawn started crying, the tears streaming down her face, evidence of a grief so intense Spike couldn’t keep himself from taking a step back. “If I change too much, Buffy and Mom won’t know me when we meet again. If I don’t stay the same as when they…they left, they’ll stop loving me…”

“Oh, Little Bit.” Spike didn’t know what else to say, because he got it then, and realized that he should have understood it from the beginning. The Bit wasn’t really afraid of her incipient womanhood, all the terrors of awakening sexuality included. She was afraid of changing, period, of becoming a person her mum and sis wouldn’t recognize. No wonder the girl had looked like a birthday cake whose candles had been put out with a fire extinguisher when Red and Glenda had presented her with the new heeled shoes. They were something Joyce and Buffy’s Dawn would never be old enough to wear. “They’ll know you, Little Bit,” Spike said after a lot of thought, during which Dawn’s tears continued to stream down like rain. “They’ll know you for two reasons. First off, because the real you, your soul, will never change…”

“How do you know that?” Dawn demanded angrily. “I’m not real. I’m not human. I’m just a bit of energy those stupid, stupid monks forced into a human shape. For all you know, I might not have a soul at all.”

“’Course you have a soul,” Spike retorted. “Hey. Vampire here. I can smell it on you, can’t I? You smell like a hundred percent genuine human girl, complete with conscience and Immortal spirit. If you’re a fake, you’re a damn good fake. Besides.” He stepped closer to the weeping girl, forced her to turn away from the tombstones with a gentle touch to the side of her cheek. “You’re more than just an illusion the monks made for Buffy. You’re real, a genuine part of this particular ‘verse. Or you would have gone poof when Big Sis died, wouldn’t you? Stands to reason.”

“Maybe,” Dawn said doubtfully. She scrubbed her tear-reddened cheeks irritably with the back of her hand. “What’s the other reason?”

“What other reason?”

“The other reason Mom and Buffy will still know me. You said there were two.”

“Oh.” Spike thought fast. He was about to lie through his occasionally-pointy-teeth, tell Dawn things he had no possible way of knowing were true—and he only hoped he cold make them sound convincing enough for the Bit to believe. “That’s easy,” he said blithely. “Time’s different in Heaven, innit? All the near-deathers, the ones who’ve crossed over and come back to tell the tale, say so. They say everything’s peaceful there, complete…”

Dawn blinked. “You think Mom and Buffy are in heaven?”

“I know they are, Bit,” Spike said, with so much sincerity he almost believed it himself. He just prayed that Willow had kept her mouth shut about her hell-dimension theories within Dawn’s hearing. “So, the near-deathers. They go on and on about meeting up with everyone they loved who crossed over before, from Great Uncle George to Fluffy the cat, right? What they don’t tell you—what they *can’t*--is that the people who died *after* ‘em are up there too. They can’t, ‘cause the people who are still living would want to know about how they died and if they won the lottery first, and that’s against the rules. But it’s true all the same. There’s a you that already in Heaven, Dawn—a you that’s lived and grown and died at her appointed time—and she’s in your mum and sis’s arms this very minute, laughing and crying and filling them in on everything they missed. ‘Cause up there, everything’s already happened. Everything’s complete. You see?”

Dawn looked perplexed. “I don’t know…”

“Look,” Spike said urgently. He had to make her believe! “It’s *Heaven*, init? No pain, no hurt. Now how could it be Heaven for your mom and sis if they had to look down and see you hurting and crying here?” Spike shook his head emphatically. “No. Don’t you worry. The Powers have things better arranged than *that*.”

Dawn frowned. “So…” she said slowly, after much thought. “You’re saying there’s a me already in Heaven. Already with Buffy and Mom.”

“A you that’s *lived*,” Spike answered, putting huge emphasis on the last word. “A you who has grown up, changed, experienced everything this great big vale o’ tears has to offer. Not the you you are today. Not even the you you were the day Buffy leapt from the Tower.” Spike touched the shoulder of the dress Dawn wore pointedly, then raised his hand to her cheek, letting it linger against her skin while her eyes lifted to look deeply into his own. “You’ve got to live, Dawn,” he said softly. “Grow. Let your body change, let your heart change with it. Become the woman you were meant to be.”

He saw the tears return to her eyes. It wasn’t the deluge he’d seen before, but a fine mist, subtle but thick enough to hide her sparkle. “It’s so hard,” she whispered.

“No. It’s not a game for sissies, love,” Spike agreed. He gave her a tender smile. “But you’ve got it in you. All the Summers women do.”

Dawn looked at him long and hard…and then an amazing thing began to happen. The macabre landscape started to change, the darkness thinning, the cobwebs melting away. Even more amazing was the change that came over Dawn. Her back straightened, her shoulders squared, and the light came back into her eyes—a light that had an extra sparkle to it, an extra edge of sauciness, that made Spike’s unbeating heart leap. *Alive,* he silently rejoice. *This one’s still alive. She’s going to make it, after all.* “And you’ve always had a thing for Summers women, haven’t you,” Dawn murmured. Moving close.

Spike felt his lips move into a knowing smirk. “You’re a rare breed, love,” he answered, aware of her tiny hands settling onto his shoulders, aware of her sweet warm torso radiating delicious heat. “Can’t hardly help myself.” And he let his head drop forward, gently touching his lips to hers.

But, because it was her dream, and because he *could* help himself at least a little bit, Spike kept his hands chastely at her waist and the touch of his lips light. Dawn’s body trembled slightly, and he knew it was enough. The girl wasn’t ready yet for the lessons he’d so mistakenly envisioned. Those would come in their own good time, and would probably not be taught by him—something Spike accepted with a certain amount of regret, but accepted nonetheless. The pleasures and perils that came with living in an adult woman’s body could wait. Let her get used to simply living again, first. Spike tightened his arms and kissed her, knowing that the kiss was sending the first little tremors of adult excitement through the girlish body, knowing he was planting a seed that would flower on its own. And when the graveyard and the girl both slowly dissolved, leaving Spike sitting alone within the dusty environs of his crypt, he smiled.

Dawn was awake.

***

Dawn stretched languorously against her smooth cotton sheets, body still thrilling with the memory of the dream. She couldn’t remember much of what had happened in it, but she could certainly remember the kiss. Could still taste the sweetness of it. Could still feel the delicious chill of Spike’s strong hands on the back of her shoulders as he….

Her eyes flew open.

Spike? SPIKE??? Okay, that was just plain weird, not to mention more than a little ewwwww. Sure, she’d had a crush on him once, but really. That was ages ago, and anyway, during the last few months she’d come to think of him as a brother. Oh, god! Dawn knew, just knew, that the next time she saw Spike she was going to flush as red as beet, and she’d bet money that Spike would know exactly why she was doing it, too. The vampire seemed to have this uncanny way of reading her mind…

Well, never mind. There were worse things in life than being embarrassed, and somehow Dawn was sure that even if Spike *could* read her mind, he wouldn’t make a big issue out of it. He’d been around, after all. Starring in one teenage girl’s mildly erotic dream was unlikely to be a big deal. Dawn stretched one more time, then bounded out of bed, wrinkling her nose at the assortment of too-small clothes in her closet. She’d really have to get Willow to take her shopping sometime soon, or maybe even get Marcia’s mom to drop her and Marcia at mall. School would be starting in just a few weeks, and Dawn just couldn’t begin her last year of junior high looking like a ragbag. As a Summers Woman, she had a reputation to uphold.

She slipped on her robe and started down the hallway to the bathroom. There was a brand new day to face.

The End


End file.
